THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 135 



vulgaris, and others, — which, as ever, formed a certain 

 attraction to hosts of small tortoiseshell, meadow brown and 

 blue butterflies. Arrived at the foot of the hills — which, by- 

 the-bye, must have taken millions of ages to build up, seeing 

 that they are composed entirely of shells, Foraminifera and 

 other cretaceous matter — the mind was at once impressed 

 with the scene, and convinced that the place whereon we 

 stood was at no distant period (geologically speaking) an 

 extending sea-coast, the cliflTs above us marking out the 

 boundaries of the ancient ocean. Nature here has failed to 

 leave record of the Fauna or Blora of these periods ; and it 

 is only in imagination that the young naturalist pictures the 

 giant butterflies, with their tiers of wings, painted in blue and 

 purple and gold ; gaudy beetles, touched with every hue ; 

 the hovering Mantis ; or the poised Sphinx. Maybe here, 

 also, fluttered non-described species of fire-flies, hosts of 

 lace-winged dragon-flies, and myriads of small fry, heedlessly 

 fluttering in a sunbeam, sleeping on a flower, or falling a prey 

 to the powerful mandibles of one of the numerous host of 

 spiders, — undescribed, forgotten, unknown. Perhaps some of 

 our brother naturalists ask us how we know that such lovely 

 creatures ever drank honeyed nectar, and surveyed the tract 

 on which we trod. With all due respect we ask them, how 

 can they prove that it was not so ? Most probably the sea 

 spread its water here over the plain during the period when 

 the London clay and other terliaries were being laid down, 

 the fossil contents of which most decidedly claim ibr these 

 periods a tropical or serai-tropical climate. If so, and we 

 have abundance of evidence in its favour, it is extremely 

 unlikely that this ancient Brighton or Dover was a weary 

 desert, a vast waste. Life was sv^arming in the seas ; why 

 should it not on land ? Unfortunately we were not able to 

 review the museum of the far-famed Briareus, to whom 

 history wisely assigned his hundred arms, all of which we 

 hope he made subservient to the study of nature. But these 

 good old times are gone for ever; and we tailed to discover 

 the remains or tomb of the monster. 



The morning was getting on, so we hastened into the 

 wood, where we were surprised to see small plantations, so 

 to speak, of the deadly nightshade (Atropa Belladonna) : 

 some of the plants were five or six feet high, and might in 



